


Blue skies are calling

by pr_scatterbrain



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: Genderswap, M/M, Surfing, Twin AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-06
Updated: 2015-06-06
Packaged: 2018-04-03 00:08:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,682
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4079119
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pr_scatterbrain/pseuds/pr_scatterbrain
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There were players on the Flyers who Mika used to check in with. Rookies who talked big but smiled a little too much. Veterans who stayed out too late during home stands and had long phone calls from home on the road. Players who didn’t quite fit into the locker room.</p><p>Mika never expected to ever be one of those players for Brownie. But it’s clear she is. </p><p>No wonder Nicole has no time for her. </p><p> </p><p>Or the one where Jeff has an identical twin who saves the day, post-Philly trades, with good intentions. Sort of.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Blue skies are calling

**Author's Note:**

> One day I saw this amazing twin au edit on tumbr. I sent the post to Sarah (saxihighlandck) and somehow we started talking about various hockey twin au's. This was one of them. I want to emphasis that we came up with Bran and a lot of this story together, and it takes place in a verse Sarah created. I also have to thank her so much for her support and enthusiasm while I was writing this.
> 
> A huge thank you goes to Rae (masterpenguin) who is the kindest friend and beta and a fandom treasure! Thank you so much. *hugs and hearts*

 

 

 

A month or so after the NHL season kicks off, Bran washes up in LA like clockwork.

 _LA layover_ he texts upon arrival. Mika doesn’t usually get advanced notice. Few people do.

In the bright morning light, she brings a hand up to shield her eyes from the glare as she watches him advance up her driveway. By her side Arnold is whining and wriggling his entire body with excitement. When Bran gets within a few feet of the entrance, Mika opens the front door and lets Arnold bound over to him. 

"Hey pretty puppy," he coos. "Did you miss me?"

Mika rolls her eyes. "He's like that with everyone." 

Bran grins. Straightening, he drops his duffle and hugs Mika close with one arm. 

"You look like shit," he tells her in that fond way of his before he presses a kiss to her hairline. 

A snort of laughter bursts out of her before she registers it. Pushing him away, she takes in his easy smile and the skin peeling off his sun-burnt shoulders. A few new shadows of ink poke out from under the collar of his faded t-shirt and he is badly in need of a haircut. It’s a form of muscle memory, almost, when Mika steps back to let him walk into her house. Rolling his shoulders, Bran kicks off his flip flops before he dumps his battered duffle bag and carefully leans his surfboard travel bag up against the wall. Covered in scuff marks, duct tape and random stickers; it doesn’t much look like the bag his sponsors had him pose next before he headed off to last comp. It might not even be the same bag. It wouldn’t be the first time he’s given away gear to someone in need.

Already more at home than her, Bran disappears with Arnold towards the kitchen.

He’s always had a useful sense of direction. Not much else about him is. But that’s Bran. Every family has one.

Caught between the echoing space of her new place, it takes Mika a second to catch up. If Jeff were here he’d already be online ordering Bran a new bag – Mika shuts down that thought before it can get any traction. Or she tries. That’s a general theme for LA. It’s a general theme for a lot of things lately.

Whatever. It figures.

 

 

Mika lets Bran tag along when she goes to practice. 

After so many years, she's used to the double takes when people think they are seeing Jeff trail in her wake, but it's a sign of something when she misses the broken fingers. He grins ruefully when they end up in the trainer’s room after a handshake gone wrong from Dustin Brown. 

"Rough waves in Tassie," he shrugs simply.

She doesn't know what to say. Flickering sparks of fury push against the ennui that has settled in her shoulder since the trade. 

"An EMT checked me after I wiped out against the reef ledge," she hears him tell the Kings trainer when they examine him. 

She turns away. He's always like this. Always. In the low lights, he looks golden and sun kissed and so much like Jeff it should be some kind of joke. Maybe it is. 

 

 

It’s late in the afternoon by the time they get out of the arena. The glare from the sun is almost blinding as they step outside. It reflects from the hoods of the cars in the team parking lot into her eyes. When she glances over at Bran, he is wincing. Taking off her sunglasses, she hands them to him without comment.

Two broken fingers. A fractured rib and a concussion. Plus a hell of a lot of bruises he had hidden with baggy sweats and a crooked smile.

On the drive home she finds out the EMT wasn't an EMT but a second year med school student. Maybe a second year med school dropout.

“Maybe?” Mika makes herself ask lightly.

Bran shrugs. “I’m not sure.”

She isn't surprised.

 

 

(Bran has Mika’s initials tattooed behind his ear, intertwined with Jeff’s. 

Love is and isn’t simple for him.

Love is and isn’t simple in general, Mika has found.)

 

 

In the evening, Jeff's entire expression changes the moment Bran appears over Mika's shoulder during their skype date. He’s always been expressive. Lately it’s been to his detriment. However as his face lights up, Mika finds herself exhaling slowly. As identical as Bran and Jeff are, Jeff can fill her field of vision like no one else can. As Bran squeezes next to her, Jeff leans forward and smiles so openly and so easily. Filled with happiness, Jeff is – it’s something. It’s really something. It always has been, and inside her chest her heart reacts as it always does.

He’s it for her. That never made it into the fine print, but it’s true.

As teenagers that skipped heartbeat was behind most of her stupid decisions. She hasn’t been a teenager for a while now, but that hasn’t really stopped being true. The stories the Philadelphia press published certainly covered that in great detail. That’s one thing she doesn’t miss. Her heavy boots and Jeff’s old shearling jacket might be out of place in the bright and sometimes blunt sunshine of LA, but no one gives a damn. She hadn’t seen the flash of a camera in the periphery of her vision once since she landed.

The night before last, Brownie took the team out for drinks. Stumbling around LA hotspots with the rest of her new teammates had felt a little like juniors. There was no real edge to the night. No double dares or recklessness. No one following them, no one shouting her name like a slur. She got drunk on free beers, danced with a reluctant Nicole and lost her lip gloss and a few hairpins in the bathroom. No one took any notice of her at the end of the night when she piled into a taxi. The anonymity was freeing. It was strange too. She isn’t sure what to do with it. Any of it.

As they are prone to, Bran and Jeff get distracted within seconds. Talking a mile a minute, Jeff demands to hear everything that Bran has been up to. Bran happily obliges. For about half an hour or so, Mika listens as Bran rambles about Hawaii and the 20 foot wave he caught for his Wave of Winter entry. Last year, Jeff joined Bran in Hawaii for a few weeks. He spent most of it bobbing about in the ocean and talking big between waves, while Mika lounged on the beach flipping her way through ebooks and getting a great tan. It was a good summer.

She isn’t really listening as Bran talks about the awesome new women on the pro tour circuit, the bike he found and then lost in Puerto Rico, but she feels herself stiffen when Bran insouciantly mentions the call he got from a friend of a friend to go surfing in Tasmania with a group of guys on the pro-circuit.

Jeff nods and nods. "The photos you sent were fucking amazing."  

They were - Mika has flicked through them a week ago. Bran was a tiny golden flash of light in the darkness of the slate grey water at Ship Stern Bluff. Fearless and so happy, he almost looked like he was flying as he cut through the surf on his lucky board.

Said lucky surfboard got smashed on the rocks

“Just my luck,” Bran jokes ruefully, breaking the taunt moment.

Mika rolls her eyes.

“You should have been there,” Bran tells Jeff earnestly. “You would have loved it.”

Jeff laughs. “I would have been washed into the rocks before I paddled halfway out.”

“Naw, come on, have some faith,”

“Bro,” Jeff grins. “Surfing isn’t genetic.”

 “You’re not that bad,” Bran tries.

Jeff isn’t. Not really. He’s a natural athlete. When it comes to surfing he can hold his own. Mika’s seen Jeff keep up with Bran’s clique of friends from the pro-circuit. There is an easiness to Jeff when he’s bobbing in the waves. He might not consider himself a surfer, but few would know that looking at him. He picked up the basics easily and after a half a dozen off season summers spent at various surfing hot spots around the world he isn’t too bad. He isn’t Bran, but few people have Bran’s talent. Few people on the pro-circuit have Bran’s talent, though most are more focused than he is.

 

 

Loving Jeff means loving Bran. Mika always knew that. Even right in the beginning. 

 

 

Bran settles into Mika’s house the way he seems to settle everywhere he lays his head. Slowly his collection of battered t-shirts he stole from Jeff or was outfitted in from his old and current sponsors gets supplemented by black and silver LA Kings gear. If there is a noticeable absence of Flyer’s paraphernalia amongst it all, then she isn’t counting. It’s Bran to a T, thoughtful as ever, but she isn’t counting that either.

A routine builds around them, or the barebones of one. In the morning she wakes up to the sound of Bran fumbling around the kitchen and when she gets back from taking Arnold for a run, Bran sometimes has breakfast waiting for her.

“Sunny side up, right,” he not really asks as he sets the warm plate of eggs and toast in front of her.

She nods, leaning over the counter to grab his mug of coffee. For all he can’t keep track of, he remembers things like that.

“You’re welcome,” he grins.

She rolls her eyes and ducks away before he tries to pull her into a hug.

The swelling around his broken fingers has gone down, but the bruises have bloomed into deep, dark colours. She watches as he reaches for another mug. He’s still moving with care, but not as carefully as he had. Lately he’s started coming to practice rather than staying home to spoil Arnold. He bonds easily with the Kings, quickly earning himself invitations to team dinners and drinks like he did with the Flyers. He’d probably do the same with the Blue Jackets too. He smiles at her when she says as much.

“You’re always my favourite,” he tells her in that way of his and she knows he means it.

It’s his kind of kindness; too honest by far. It’s a weakness and a weapon, though she doubts he would think of it as such. She can meet his eyes now but for a long time she couldn’t when he said those kinds of things. Sometimes she used to think he did it on purpose. With a few words he can completely change the course of a conversation with one sentence, or shut it down. Now she throws her sweaty towel at him and tells him to shut his mouth.

“Is Jeff the only one who can sweet talk you?” Drew laughs as she goes to steps off the ice. 

Mika bumps her hip and pushes past her. “Don’t encourage him.”

 

 

The Kings go on a road trip. They win and they lose and, as a team, are indiscriminate about how they celebrate or commiserate either result. Indiscriminate and uncreative. Teambuilding takes many forms. For the Kings it’s dinners and drinking. It was the same with the Flyers. It’s the same league wide, give or take a few exceptions. Mika isn’t an exception in the Kings. She isn’t wearing a C, but she’s trying. She is.

It must look like something else though, because Brownie keeps an eye on her more often than not. After playing the Coyotes who are apparently her new rival team, he makes an effort to check in with her. He buys her a drink and sits next to her and he’s a good captain. He is. She likes to think so was she, even if only for part of the time she wore the letter. There is a different letter on her jersey now. Upon arrival an A was waiting for her. When the first pictures of her wearing the jersey was released, a few local sports writers said it suited her. She still isn’t sure how she was meant to take that.

Mika doesn’t finish her second drink but that doesn’t prevent her finishing the night by getting into an argument with Brownie. He listens to her patiently, and then puts her in a taxi with Drew back to the hotel. Because he already knows her too well, he gets in the front seat and tells the driver not to listen to her when she tells him to take her to the closest tattoo studio.

“I want a tattoo,” she tells him.

She swears to make her point. Drew laughs. (Drew laughs at everything.)

There were players on the Flyers who Mika used to check in with. Rookies who talked big but smiled a little too much to be as confident and comfortable as they wanted to appear. Vets who stayed out too late during home stands and had long phone calls from home on the road. Players who didn’t quite fit into the locker room.

It is clear Drew is one of those players for Brownie.

There have been reports about her. Stories floating around the league. None of them particularly flattering. In person there is a purposeful flippancy about her. It’s cultivated in a way Mika recognises. Beneath it is a brittleness that Mika isn’t sure what to do with. Not anymore at least. That’s Brownie’s job, and he keeps an eye on her almost always. He keeps an eye on Mika too, Mika slowly realises.

Mika never expected to ever be one of those players. But it’s clear she is. 

No wonder Nicole has no time for her.

 

 

(Nicole was one of the first people to welcome Mika to LA.

When Mika was given an A, Nicole was also the first people to tell Mika that she better live up to it.)

 

 

Eighteen days after the Kings left LA, they return. Mika gets home with a black eye from a high stick and a headache to find sand tracked into her living room. Deep in Mika’s bones she knows before she sees the group of vaguely familiar faces that Bran has been surfing. Fury wrecks through her, incinerating her from the inside out. How dare he? How dare his friends let him do that?

He smiles when he sees her, easy and open. Mika doesn’t know where to fucking start.

He isn’t a fighter, but they fight about it anyway.

It’s a one-sided argument. He starts apologising after a few half-hearted excuses. It isn’t enough. It isn’t even close to enough. She won’t be pacified. She doesn’t know how long he is planning to stay in LA. To be honest, she doesn’t particularly care. Bran might have surfed with worse injuries on the circuit, but that isn’t going to happen on her watch. Not with a concussion.  

 

 

(Bran’s friends disappear. Mika is selfishly glad.)

 

 

After –

Afterwards, well, Mika doesn’t have any favours she can quietly call in. All she can really do is call the front office. They set things into motion. Within the hour one of the teams on call medics arrive to assess Bran. They are unfailingly professional even though Mika knows all they want to do is get home to their family – and stay there for longer than an hour. Being on call might be part of their position with the Kings, but taking care of Bran really shouldn’t be something they should have to deal with.

Bran is sufficiently ashamed with himself, and is quiet from most of the examination.

“You could have gotten into serious trouble,” the doctor tells Bran seriously.

Bran scratches the back of his neck, “I’m sorry.”

And Mika thinks he means it, but she isn’t ready to hear it.

Stepping away, she fiddles with her phone in the kitchen. There are a few texts from Danny she hadn’t gotten around to replying to. One from Brownie checking in to see if she got home ok, and a message from her agent asking her to call her back when she has some time. Something to do with one of her sponsors wanting to discuss something; Mika can’t concentrate on the details.

There are messages from Jeff too.

The Kings are playing the Blue Jackets in a few weeks. They’ve both been counting down the days.

Lately, they hadn’t quite managed to catch each other. First he was at home while she was on the road, and then they were both on the road. Time zones shifted around them. She feels so tired it hurts when she listens to him. His voice washes over her, and she leans back against the edge of the kitchen counter while he rambles about his day, the results from the check up on his healing foot, the dinner he had at Antoine Vermette’s home – as much as she wants too, Mika can’t quite focus on Jeff either. All she really is able to do is catch the tone and timber of his voice while she rubs Arnold’s stomach with her foot.

The Blue Jackets have made him, Vermette and James Wisniewski, R. J. Umberger alternate captains. Or more specifically, the Blue Jackets are rotating the title between the four of them. Umberger, a former Flyer, called Mika a few times back during the pre-season. She came with Nash and the Blue Jackets brass to Sea Isle after the trade. Nash gets what credit there is to take from the situation Jeff created. Yet although Mika doesn’t know the details – she should, but she doesn’t – Umberger most probably deserves a share of it to. Quiet and intense, she is the kind of person every team needs in their locker room. Sometimes Mika suspects there was more Umberger could tell her, but she was never one to speak out of turn.

 

 

When Jeff was sixteen, Mika saw him and decided he was worth a second glance.

When Bran was sixteen he was a high school dropout who only just made it to California.

 

 

Brownie might be keeping an eye on her but Mika isn’t a rookie or one of his kids. The idea of a tattoo grows and Bran holds Mika’s hand when she goes and gets a constellation tattooed on her arm during the Kings home-stand. For all that’s he’s hopeless and despite the fact she still isn’t talking to him, he holds her hand and doesn’t say a word to stop her.

Bran doesn’t hold a monopoly on mistakes or crappy tattoos. When she tells him as much, Drew laughs. She’s flirting with the body piercing artist while Brownie is keeping an eye on her. It’s late. He should really be home with his family, not looking after them.

“Captain’s duty,” he tells her.

“I remember that one,” Mika tells him, because she does.

He flinches a little. She didn’t mean her words to cut, but she was never great with tone or pitch. Pronger said as much on more than one occasion.

She was the first female captain of the Flyers. She tries not to think about what kind of legacy she left in her wake.

“Captain’s privilege,” he tries again.

And why not call it that. There are worse things to say.

She isn’t sure what she feels at this point. The realisation wrecks her in more ways than she thought it could at this point. There was certain simplicity to her anger before. She wanted to swear or break something or someone. That was clear cut in comparison to now.

“I miss him,” she tells Bran later when her tattoo is wrapped up and Brownie has bundled them into the back of his huge car to drive them home.

“I know,” Bran tells her, and she thinks he does.

 

 

(There is a receipt in her purse and a leather covered box lost in one of the many cardboard boxes she hasn’t looked at since they were shipped to LA.)

 

 

The nights are the worst. Mika’s skin twitches and her hands feel restless. There are hours ahead of her and it isn’t too late to call Jeff, but she can’t. It would only make things worse. She can’t help him by making him more upset. And calling him right now would do that.

Jeff’s a mess. She doesn’t need to read between the lines of the Columbus sports articles to know that. She knows he is; she knows him. And because of that she can’t be. He needs her and she has to hold it together for him. She has to be there in the limited way she can be.

Mika makes things work. That’s what she does. That’s what got her this far. It’s what got her in trouble too. It got both of them in trouble – not that Jeff ever needed help with that.

It’s just… it’s harder at night.

She bites her lip when Bran pads into her room and curls up behind her. His body is warm and his breathing is so steady.

“It’s going to be okay,” he tells her; promises her.

She exhales a shaky breath.

There is a terrible kind of kindness to Bran. She isn’t naïve. She knows why he’s here and she knows he was with Jeff before his last surfing misadventure.

Bran’s never taken care of himself. She doesn’t know why he’s trying to take care of her now. She must look worse than she thinks.

 

 

Somehow an actual routine begins to form around them.

In the mornings, Bran comes with her when she takes Arnold for runs down by the beach. He brings home some of his friends every now and then. They are a mixed group. A few are on the circuit, some aren’t. People love Bran in a way Mika recognises in herself. It’s hard not to. Word must spread because a handful of mid ranking surfers turn up looking for a place to crash in the lead up to the next pro event on the ASP world tour. A few ‘names’ are among the group, though they are a minority. Mika doesn’t have much time for any of them. The Kings continue to bounce from wins to losses. The lines don’t seem to ever quite become fixed. Sutter changes things up in practice and a few times Mika catches sight of him speaking to Dean Lombardi while the team are cooling down towards the end of practice.

It’s a relief to take a break from it and go watch the second day of the Hurley Pro qualifying comp at Trestles Beach.

It’s one of the last events on the calendar for the year and although it is a trek to get there given the traffic, Mika finds herself glad that she made the effort rather than sleeping through her free day. There is a palpable sense of excitement at the beach. Bran gets pulled into the thick of it. Between catching up with old friends and calming the nerves of others, he is spotted by surf journalists who are eager to get quotes out of him before the action begins.

When the event kicks off, he finds his way back to Mika’s side after a stint at the announcing table with a rueful grin on his face. “Sorry about that.”

Mika rolls her eyes.

 

 

It’s still strange how off the radar she and the Kings are in LA. She and Bran go out with some of them a few times a week. Usually Drew, who always is up for a night out, and some of the younger players who attend mostly because the novelty of team drinks hasn’t worn off yet. Sometimes Brownie and Nicole make an appearance, but mostly out of a sense of duty. However even as a group, even with Brownie and Nicole there buying drinks, no one has really recognised them.

No one cares about her here. No one cares about any of them.

Mika still isn’t used to it. She isn’t sure if she will ever get used to it.

 

 

Columbus isn’t what Mika imagined. There is no grand reunion, no deafening hiss of the crowd when she steals the puck from Jeff or vice versa. There is only Jeff in his game suit – the one he says is designed to have a ‘European slim fit’ but she thinks is just too tight – finding her when she and the Kings get to the arena. His foot is acting up again. The x-rays he had shown her made the fracture look like such a small thing, but she can see the careful way he is holding himself.

“Hey you,” he says, wrapping her up in his arms.

For a moment all she can do is breathe him in. Before she has the chance to give in to any of a myriad of impulses, he is pulling back a little to smile at her. He’s had a haircut since they last skyped each other. He looks good. He looks perfect really. She lets her hand run down the back of his jacket as she steps back; following the weave of the fabric as she smooths out the wrinkles she may have created.  Even through the fabric she can feel the warmth of his body and as soon as she steps away from him she wants to step close once more.

“How’s the foot?”

“Which one?” Jeff asks.

Mika snorts. Fair question. It’s been a while since the 2009-10 playoffs where he played against the Hawks with two broken feet. Maybe it would be worth remembering if they had won. But that could be said about a lot of things. Maybe that’s the point. She doesn’t know or particularly care anymore. He smiles at her and for a moment it’s easy.

“I like your tan,” he jokes.

She groans. He’s as bad as Anze and Quickie, but not nearly as clever.

“What?” he laughs. “I think I spotted a freckle. Maybe. Let me have a closer look.”

She shoves him but that only makes him laugh more. The bridge of her nose is still healing from the Kings last home practices where they worked out in the late afternoon sunshine.

He can be such a shit. It’s a wonder she misses him at all. When she tells him as much, his expression soften and she is so gone on him. It’s stupid really. Her heart is acting up inside her chest and there is no time for any of this. They only have a short window. Already Mika can feel the pull of her team as they fill into the visitors’ locker room.

“Dinner afterwards,” she tells him. “Take me somewhere nice.”

He makes a face. “Would room service count?”

It probably would, but she tells him no anyway.

“Ask Umberger for a recommendation,” she tells him.

From memory her taste was reasonably inoffensive as far as hockey players went.

Jeff grins and she shifts a little on her feet. She needs to get moving and he knows that. Before she can excuse herself, he presses a kiss to the corner of her mouth.

“Have a good one,” he tells her.

“Always do,” she promises.

 

 

People have written a lot of things about Jeff over the years. Somewhere along the lines he became the irresponsible one, the partier, the reckless and utterly careless superstar.

Even now, Mika doesn’t know how people could get him so wrong.

 

 

Bran is there when the Kings get back to LA.

He smiles at Mika when she gets home in the morning and takes her bag from her hands.

It’s horrible how well he knows her. He’s the only one in the entire city who does, if she’s honest.

“I’m fine,” she tells him before going to her room. A long, hot shower isn’t her way of avoiding him, but she can admit that it’s pretty close. It’s not any easier to face him with wet hair dripping on her shoulders and her face scrubbed free from makeup. But it wasn’t going to be.

There is no quick fix here. There are months left in the regular season, and if either of their teams make the playoffs? The season stretches ahead of her, defining her new horizon.

 

 

This is her new reality.

This is it. This is what she needs to get used to.

 

 

Around a week before Christmas, Bran is cleared to resume his training. Normally this is when he would disappear. This time he shrugs when she asks him where he heading off to next.

“I thought I might stick around for a while,” he tells her. “The season’s mostly over anyway.”

She snorts. “Your season, not mine.”

“Yeah,” he nods agreeably.

He says that simply. Maybe to him it is simple.

(Mika’s never been great at simple.)

 

 

There are more than a few Kings without family in LA. In the lead up to Christmas a few parties are organised. Mika isn’t short of invitations, but on Christmas Eve she ends up tagging along with Bran to have dinner with a group of his old friends. A good portion of his friends are nomadic. They follow the surf around the globe. The ones who live more or less permanently in LA are a motley crew; mostly older women who welcome Bran with open arms. Mika gets the feeling they are the reason Bran remained in one piece during his years in the wilderness otherwise known as the period of time before Jeff went pro and started unofficially sponsoring him. And Jeff does. Mika isn’t oblivious. Jeff’s the reason Bran made the pro circuit – he’s probably the indirect reason more than a few women made the circuit given Bran’s track record for helping out friends (or friends of friends) in need.

After a few glasses of wine they start exchanging stories with Mika about their various misadventures over the years. Bran’s cat like ability to always land on his feet is mentioned more than once. People love Bran; they can’t help but love him. Mika knows the inevitability of it too well.

It feels almost like family when they all sit down to eat.

It feels a lot the same when she has lunch the following day with the Kings. Taking her place at a beautifully dressed table, she holds Anze’s and Drew’s hands when they say grace, and eats too much of everything. When she and Bran skype Jeff later in the afternoon he has no pity and laughs at them.

“You’re the worst boyfriend,” she tells him. “The worst.”

“I’m a good guest. A great one, actually,” he tells her without shame. “I bought pie and flowers and left Antione and his wife’s home with leftovers.”

She glares at him when he waves the tinfoil covered container at the camera like the huge dork he is.

 

 

The New Year rolls over and the Kings can’t seem to score. Almost everything is clicking, but they don’t have anything to show for it on the scoreboard. It’s frustrating everyone. Mika can see the toll it’s taking on the guys, on Sutter who keeps driving them forward, on the fans who want answers.

After a game against the Preds they should have won but didn’t, Sutter’s expression is tightly controlled as he bag skates them.

It figures that Lombardi catches Mika when she’s feeling on the verge of vomiting up her breakfast and what’s left of the beer and shots she drank last night. Her face is red and sweaty, and she really, really wishes that hadn’t gone out with some of the guys last night. A few drinks turned into a few more and it was clear that Sutter was completely aware that she and a good fraction of his team turned up to practice hung over. However instead of reprimanding her, Lombardi wants to talk about Jeff.

Jeff and her relationship with him.

Lombardi doesn’t specifically inquire about the latter, but she can read between the lines. Mika doesn’t talk about Jeff. As a kid going into the draft, her agent told her not to and as a Flyer Mika learnt not to. Mika might be a King now, but a jersey comes off. Jeff is Jeff.

It makes Mika suspicious when Sutter brings him up later, while the Kings are on the bus to the airport. 

He gives her a look when she hesitates before answering. “Don’t look so suspicious, Richie.”

“I’m not.”

He snorts.

“ _I’m not_ ,” she tells him.

 

 

There are rumours. They come and go around the end of the trade window. Mika isn’t naïve. She can’t help but be aware of them. People ask her about it and she says and tweets stuff which might be stupid. It probably is, but that goes with her track record whether or not the Kings buy into that. The press do, but they are writing different stories now.

With the trade window closing, she goes to bed anxious.

Jeff could end up anywhere. Anywhere.

Jeff doesn’t want to think about the possibility let alone talk about it. Pestered by journalists, he is cagey even with her. Apparently there are feelers being put out, and offers have supposably been made, but nothing is solid and nothing has directly been communicated with him.

“Tell me about LA,” he asks when they skype, and she lets him distract her (mostly because he is the one who needs to be distracted).

She tells him about getting sunburnt (again), about taking Arnold to the vet to get his teeth cleaned, about her tattoo. It has healed beautifully, but some of the rookies now have taken to thinking Mika is some kind of romantic. Apparently Anze overheard them talking about it. It’s embarrassing (but Jeff only laughs).

“You are a romantic,” he tells her.

Mika is no such thing.

Jeff won’t be dissuaded. “Nope. It’s in your blood Richie. You can’t help it. You literally wear your heart on your sleeve.”

Mika groans, because really. Ugh.

Jeff grins. “You’re the best girlfriend. The very best.”

“What would you know? You’ve only had one.”   

This, for some reason makes Jeff smirk and look insufferably smug. “Some people get it right the first time around, babe.”

 

 

So they aren’t talking about it.

Mika can do that.

(Mika can’t do that).

 

 

Mika's never been able to make promises when it comes to hockey. For a while, she thought she could and during that period she made a lot of promises to Jeff. She promised him a future in Philly, she promised them a home there, a life together. Now, all she can do is listen to rumours about where he might end up. The only thing she can say to him (when he lets her) is that no matter what, it will be okay whatever happens. She isn’t sure if it's a comfort or even if it will be true. But she tells him that.

Lately, she thinks maybe she is telling herself that.

Mostly though, Mika hates how helpless she feels. There is nothing at all she can do to and she knows that. The only thing she can really do is keep busy. Time doesn’t really pass any quicker but she fills it the best she can. She practices and plays and goes out for drinks and goes over to Brownie and Nicole’s home for dinner. Between those things she alternates between annoying her agent by calling a million times asking for updates regarding Jeff’s status, and checking online for any news. Nicole catches her when Mika is over at their place, and makes her prepare the salad.

Every team has their rhythms, and rhythms within rhythms. There are always different friendship circles within each team; a lot of them overlap in one way or another. Although Brownie and Nicole are part of that, they are also a unit within the team and outside it.

They aren’t the first couple to play in the NHL, or the first to play on the same team. However they are one of the few. Of that few, they are one of the most open. (Mika tries not to think too much about that. Or how much she wants what they have). The Kings drafted Nicole after Brownie, and from what Mika had heard Nicole took a lot of crap for that.

She’s taken a lot of crap in general, Mika knows.

Not a lot of people give her credit for being one of the best Defence players in the league. Or for being one of the best players in general. Nicole has fought for her place on the Kings not just once, but each of the times she came from back from maternity leave after having their four kids.

There is something unapologetic about her. Nicole knows who she is and what she wants.

She is sure.

Not many people are.

To be honest, Mika isn’t sure what Nicole thinks of her. Nicole loves her family, Brownie, and Kings hockey. She has no time for people who fuck with those things. Mika… Mika didn’t exactly wear the King’s jersey with pride when she first arrived. For the first few weeks of the season, Mika existed in a state of tunnel vision. She didn’t –couldn’t – think beyond the immediate. Now, Mika really doesn’t want to. Not with Jeff’s future up in the air.

“More carrot,” Nicole tells her, snapping Mika out of her thoughts.

Her gaze is sharp.

Mika might not know what Nicole thinks of her, but Mika is pretty sure Nicole has a good idea of what Mika is thinking.

So Mika nods and adds more carrot to the salad.  

 

 

Bran is out when she gets home. So is Arnold. It figures.

 

 

When he gets home, he is breathless and the first thing he asks her is if she’s checked her phone.

Coming from someone who has trouble hanging on to his, Mika thinks that’s rich and she tells him as much.

“Have you?” he asks, speaking over her.

“What? No.”

She hasn’t. She’s just gotten up from her nap.

“Check your phone,” he tells her. “Do it now.”

 

 

_see you in la_

And – that can’t mean what Mika wants it to mean.

 

 

Jeff breaks into a grin when he sees Mika and Bran waiting for him by the baggage carousel. Pushing his sunglasses into his hair, he gathers Mika close with one arm, and pulls Bran in with the other.

“Welcome home bro,” Bran says, his grin so wide and full of happiness.

It’s clear that Jeff doesn’t quite know what to say to that – it’s all too new. He manages a bark of laughter before he pushes Bran away under the guise of grabbing his case off the carousel. It isn’t much of a ruse, but whatever. Jeff wraps his arms tight around her and she grabs a handful of his t-shirt. She feels him press a kiss to the crown of her head and she wants to laugh a little.

“Take me home,” he tells her.

She nods.

She nods. She can do that and she does. She takes him home and then she takes him out to celebrate.

(Then she takes him home to celebrate).

 

 

Bran leaves a few weeks later after he receives a wild card entry to one of the first events of the new season.

“See you guys soon,” he tells them, smiling as he packs what was Jeff’s but is now his new Kings duffle.  

He won’t, not with the wind at his back pushing him back out to chase the best waves around the world. Mika can see it in his eyes, but she knows him. He will keep in touch, and he’ll turn up sooner or later. Or perhaps they’ll meet up with him. Who knows where any of them will be in a few months? The Kings are starting to look better and better. Maybe they might even make the post season.  

 

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Find/follow me on [tumblr](http://www.pr-scatterbrain.tumblr.com) if you want <3


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